


14 Years

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Implied abuse, drunk asshole bro, maybe? - Freeform, short ass drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>14 years have passed since that day. And still, nothing has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	14 Years

Dave walks into the broke down static home, the rust threatening to coat even more of the exterior than he remembers. The door still creaks, like it always did. There's a smell of damp, of old, and of Lucky Strike cigarettes. He wipes his hand on his jacket as he steps inside, stepping over shattered beer bottles and pizza boxes. He can hear a static sound, and a heavy grunting snore. He sighs, and inhales once more. He never thought he'd smell this smell again. He's 27 now, and he didn't call before he turned up. There wouldn't have been an answer, anyway. He sets his briefcase down on a TV dinner tray, and takes a look around. Everything seems smaller now, and coated with a much thicker layer of grime. The walls are yellowed from the constant haze of smoke, and the couch is still the same, only now, there isn’t really enough stuffing in it to call it a couch anymore. Springs poked through, and it couldn't have been comfortable for the figure lying on it in a stained wifebeater and torn jeans. He steps in front of the couch, in front of the same old black and white TV that he used to try and watch cartoons on, all those years ago. A snuffle and a grunt alerted him that the beast was awakening, however, now, Dave isn’t scared. The man pushed himself up on one arm, bleary eyed, cracked shades on the floor, coated with fingerprints.  
  
“The fuck do you want? I told you, I got another week ‘til you get your money. Now fuck off.' The gravelly voice doesn't bring back happy memories. Dave stayed silent. “I’m being serious you prick, get out of my house.” Dave didn't move. The figure stood up angrily, stumbling and swaying. His lip curled, revealing a mess of crooked yellow teeth that hadn't seen a brush in months, maybe even years. His eyes widened, the whites now almost as yellow as the irises. “Fuckin' move, you skinny strip of piss, before I make you move.' Dave internally retched as the foul breath hit his face, and reached up to take off his own, designer, aviators. His brother took an unsteady step back, and Dave didn't reach to steady him. “It's you? You're, you're back? But I thought, when I sent you away, I thought I was done with you! Haha! Look at you, little Davey, come back to help his brother out! Oh, you're an angel! Always were so good! And look at this suit! Damn son, you're doing good! I always knew you would! Say, kid, get me my smokes, will you?' Dave didn't move an inch, still searching his brother’s eyes for a sign that he had changed. He knew he hadn't, though. Shaking his head slightly, he turned to leave. Bro frowned, and went to grab his arm, in a grip all too vicelike, and all too familiar. Dave spun on his heel, and punched Bro right in the face. He fell backwards onto the broke down couch, a string of expletives gushing from his filthy mouth. Dave shuddered, seized his briefcase, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and deposited $500 on the kitchen counter, before rushing from the house, the mesh door creaking and swinging in his wake.  
  
14 years have passed since that day. But still, nothing has changed.


End file.
